


Scream My Name (But Only Once or Twice)

by Just_sassy



Series: Slasher/Horror smut [3]
Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: BJ has a looong tongue, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 09:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20525525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_sassy/pseuds/Just_sassy
Summary: Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice!Urban legend? Evil demon? Horny asshole looking to get his rocks off whenever he can? That's for you to decide.One shots and head cannons about the ghost with the most.





	Scream My Name (But Only Once or Twice)

**Author's Note:**

> Losing people you truly care about has you revisiting an old flyer and sending your night, and life, in a whole new direction.

Grief Makes Bad (Or Maybe Not So Bad) Decisions

Beetlejuice x Reader

“Gertrude, Eustace, I’m home!” you call, entering your house. 

You're roommates are a lovely, but incredibly odd couple. They're ridiculously sweet, horribly in love, and over a hundred years dead. 

Over a hundred and twenty years ago, they were killed by some random intruder, leaving them unable to move on from the place of their murder. 

You were beyond freaked out the first time you saw them, the day after you moved into their old home. Apparently, most people don't see ghosts, but you are a strange and unusual type person. It took awhile to see past their bloody and gruesome appearances, but you've grown so used to them now that you don't even notice their bloody clothes and bullet wounds anymore. 

A sense of wrongness overtakes you as you notice an envelope on an end table. It’s addressed to you.

_ Darling Y/N,  _

_ It has been lovely these past six months. You’re such a sweet girl who has been so good to us. We hope you will look back on your time with us with fondness, but our time has come. _

_ We were obligated to spend one hundred and twenty five years in our home. Today marks the end of our purgatorial sentence. We had wanted to prepare you for our departure, but the exact date slipped our mind, and was upon us before we could act. _

_ I am truly sorry we are unable to give a proper goodbye, and wish you nothing but happiness for your future. We will always appreciate the loving care and consideration you have shown us.  _

_ Wishing you a joyous and love filled life,  _

_ Eustace and Gertrude Mayford _

Tears prickling your eyes, a sob wrenches from your chest. You hadn’t known them long, but you were closer to them than anyone.

The next few hours fly by as you process the loss. You find yourself seated on the couch, a glass of wine in one hand, an old flyer in the other.

You’d come across it less than a week after moving in. it was for something called a “bio-exorcist.” When you showed it to Gertrude, she rolled her eyes.

“He’s a conman. After he was caught tormenting a couple who had just died and the family that moved in after them, he was forbidden any contact with the living world for twenty years,” she looked quite annoyed, obviously not liking the man. “The sentence ended a few years ago and he’s been nothing but a nuisance ever since.”

Both Eustace and her had warned you off summoning him, even for fun, multiple times, but you’re feeling lonely, and the tiniest bit inebriated, and you need to talk to someone who might understand, at least someone who knows about the spirit world.

Steeling yourself, and sending an apology to your departed friends, you say, “Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice,” as quickly as possible.

Seconds roll by, leaving you disappointed. Out of nowhere, the couch shudders and quakes, making you hold on for dear life. Your eyes squeeze shut until the ride comes to an end.

A maniacal laugh and a hand on your leg has your eyes snapping an eye open. You let out a startled scream, jumping up from your spot, wanting to get some space between you and the...man?

“Who-who the hell are you?” you stutter, logic refusing to make itself known.

He gives you a huge grin, mossy teeth glittering in the low light, “I’m the ghost with the most, babe.”

“So, you’re Beet-” you’re cut off, physically unable to finish.

Eyes wide, you take in his satisfied smirk and his wagging finger, letting you know he’s responsible. “Uh uh uh, babes. We won’t be using that name again tonight.”

You bolt up, pacing the floor. Experimentally, you try to speak, “So,” you sigh in relief. “You’re the...person the Mayfords warned me about? I was expecting someone scarier.”

“Scarier?” he looks at you like you’ve got two heads.

“Well, yeah,” you say, beyond blunt. Nerves making you lose all tact. “I mean, you’re hardly intimidating. You’re not that much taller than me, you’ve got a bit of a gut, and honestly, you’re more gross than scary.”

Your pacing is brought to a sudden halt by a shockingly strong pair of hands. He pushes until you’re pressed against a wall, his arms bracket your head, trapping you. Something odd grips your wrists and ankles, spreading you out before him.

You’re suddenly horribly aware of your lack of clothes, in just your pajamas, a paper thin tank top and tiny pair of shorts. His hands still by your head, he gives you a long look over, his gaze almost tactile.

Except it’s not just his gaze that’s touching you, he seems to have grown a third arm out of his chest, which is running down your body, from just south of your breasts to just north of your shorts.

“Well now, babes,’ he growls in your ear. “I could do anything I want to you, there ain’t a thing you can do to stop me. You still think you I’m not intimidating?”

Swallowing hard, you decide to press your luck. “Intimidating? Not really. Dominant and sexy? Fuck yeah.”

A coy smile crosses your lips as his jaw drops. As what you said sinks in, an evil grin splits his face.

“Oh, babycakes,” his lips are a hair's breadth from yours.”Game on.” His mouth crashes against yours; lips, teeth, and tongues battling for control.

Your fight is half hearted at best, wanting him to be in charge. Out of nowhere you’re released, falling into his waiting arms. He carries you to the couch, placing you how he wants you, naked at crouch level, clothes melting away.

You bite your lip, looking at him with fluttering lashes. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Juice.”

“Fuck yeah there is,” he purrs, fingers digging in your hair. “I want you to play with your pretty little pussy while I use your mouth as my own personal cock sleeve.” 

You wrinkle your nose, about to remark on that comment, when he opens his pants, pulling out his cock. Tilting your head, you take it in.

It’s as pale as the rest of him, around average length, but really fucking girthy, perfect for sex, but it was going to be hell on your jaw. You’re up for the challenge.

Starting to lean forward, you’re surprised when he stops you. “Uh uh uh, I’m captain of this cruise.”

He pulls you up to kiss just under his belly button, before habin you kiss your way to and down his shaft. At the head, he commands, “Lick it.”

You do, treating it like your favorite lollipop. Feeling mischievous, you manage to give it one quick suck before he pulls you away. “Naughty girl.”

He gives you a wink that you return.

The tease lasts much longer than you would have thought, his stamina shocking you. He reminds you that you’re supposed to be providing him with some visual stimulus, so you run your hand down to your aching clit.

Jas you start to pleasure yourself, he lets you take him in your mouth, slowly. Stroking in and out, more of a tease than anything. Everytime you try to take him deeper, he pulls back or pulls you away.

You’re starting to get frustrated, when he starts to thrust, slow and easy, allowing you to get used to his girth.

“Two inside, babes,” he pants, confusing you until you realize what he wants.

Hand slipping lower, you slip your middle and ring fingers into your pussy, surprised at just how wet you are. Using your palm to keep pressure on your clit, you keep pace with him the best you can. As you both grow closer, your breathing turns into pants, moans, and groans.

“Cum for me,” he commands, a growl deepening his voice. “Cum all over your hand.”

Unable to resist, you do, thrashing and screaming around his thick pulsing cock. This triggers his own orgasm, sending a spray of surprisingly pleasant, viscous cum. You swallow every drop.

You try to lean back, but he stops you, flipping you over the back of the couch.

His hands caress your ass, occasionally dropping sharp slaps, making you gasp. One hand slips to feel just how wet you are.

“What a dirty girl.”

You feel his breath against your heated flesh, seconds before a ridiculously long tongue buries itself deep inside your core. It wiggles and worms, finding every crevice, every pleasurable nook you never knew you had. Trying to move, wanting more, he holds you tight, keeping you right where he wants you. Using his tongue and fingers he draws two more explosive climaxes from deep inside.

He then repositions you. Laying on your back, you catch your breath as he settles between your spread thighs.

You whimper, “BJ, I’m too sensitive.”

His grin is less than reassuring. He drapes himself over you, planting another lingering kiss on your lips, cock brushing against your screaming clit. “Good,” he growls, “I want you cummin’ all over my dick.” 

You try to jerk away, body refusing anymore pleasure, but Beetlejuice is having none of it. He pins your arms above your head, starting to thrust into you. Grinding and twisting, he’s buried deep. Against your wishes, your legs wrap around his hips, drawing him tighter.

Nibbling your neck, he sets a breakneck pace. A blinding light over takes you as another screaming orgasm tears through you, then another, and another. 

Finally, when it feels like you’re about to pass out, you feel his cum spurt deep inside, hearing him growl low as his teeth sink in your shoulder.

“Beetlejuice!”

Minutes pass, or hours, or maybe even days, as you regain your senses. You’re surprised to find yourself in your bed, even more to realize it’s not your body pillow you’re cuddling, but an actual body.

Looking up as much as your sore muscles will allow, anger shoots through you.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Hey, babes,” he grins down at you, cigar in one hand, glass of wine in the other. “Mornin’”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“Yes.”

A minute passes, “Well?”

“I told you, ‘Yes,’ answering your question.” The glimmer in his eyes telling you he knows what you want, and he’s enjoying your frustration.

Taking a deep breath, you grind out, “Is there a reason you’re smoking a cigar in my very much non-smoking home? Also, what possessed you to pour yourself the last glass of my fifty dollar wine?”

He just gives you a shit eating grin, refusing to answer.

Shaking your head and sighing, you drop your head back on his chest, lacking the energy to argue.

“Goodnight, BJ.”

“Goodnight, roomie.”

You’re just about to drift back off, when your eyes snap open, “Roomie!?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this story. If you have any requests, just let me know.
> 
> Also, I know Beetlejuice isn't a slasher or really all that scary, but I've had this idea floating around for a while and I think his ghostly/demonic nature lets him be a part of this series.


End file.
